Wednesday night, I hosted a bbq at my house, mostly those who attended were nurses. I didn't go to the great lengths of preparation I did with the Christmas party, as this was an intimate gathering.
Hot Commodity (formerly known as No-Nick-Named Friend) came early to assist with any preparations. By that time, I had made meat patties out of a butt-load of ground beef. You know the kind, it comes in a big tube. I asked Brother if he would go fire up the grill because he's handy like that. Brother disappears, only to return minutes later to announce that my propane tank is empty.
So, H.C. and myself go to 7-11 and exchange tanks. We drive back to my house. Brother fires up the grill. The grill burns hot, so I turned it down to it's lowest setting. Wait. When I am confident the grill is ready, I put the patties on.
Funny thing about gas grills. Each one is different...like snowflakes. I knew my old grill well enough, and I could cook anything on it with delicious and flavorful results. Then came big, shiny grill, courtesy of Mr. Recommendation. Brother has used it more than I have, I've only cooked on it twice, and it was just steaks. I really don't know this grill. It's a stranger to me. When I approach it, I swear it recoils like a scared dog.
Not even five minutes later, I open the lid and a wave of fire shoots out the grill. I immediately check my eyebrows because I am certain they have just burned off my face. The hamburgers, once big patties of red, ground beefy goodness, are now little black meatballs. They are also on fire.
Brother comes out and makes fun of the meatballs. I'm pissed. The lowest setting on the grill, and it torches my hamburgers. Ever. Single. One. They are not even remotely edible. I can't just serve hot dogs at my bbq, so I need to find replacement burgers, and fast.
So, H.C. and myself go to Hy-Vee and buy some of their pre-formed hamburger patties from the meat counter, but not before laughing at the guy at the meat counter for dropping his frozen sausage. (Don't you just hate it when your sausage slips out of your hand?~H.C.)
When we return, most of my guests have arrived. A platter with the charred burgers sit on my counter. So, naturally everyone has to put in their smartass remarks. I give Brother the replacement burgers, and goes to work cooking them on the grill that apparently hates me. It loves Brother. It hates me.
Aside from the hamburger incident, the gathering was a good one. No one barfed in my rock garden, or anywhere else around the house. Everyone loved on Hank, who was just eating it up. Our new unit educator showed up, and she turned out to be hilarious, and a fine addition to our floor. Brother and H.C. made out (because they are dating). And the police were not called.
A successful gathering. Can't wait for the next one. I will try to befriend the grill before then.